


"Nice Day Today!"

by Kamerun



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-18
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-12 03:32:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17459819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kamerun/pseuds/Kamerun
Summary: Journal Entry No. 1I am not quite sure how this is supposed to work.It was suggested to me that I just write down whatever I feel, and that it would make me feel better about myself.The Doctor said he keeps journals, that they help him think.To be honest, I hope very solemnly that no monster ever reads what I feel I must put to paper.Asgore contemplated for a moment. It was not like him to write down his problems, but recent events have demanded he find an outlet to his emotions.I doubt anyone would want to read about such tragedies anyhow. After all that has happened, I do notHe stopped. He stared at the few short lines he had written in his small little journal.He ripped out the page he was writing on, crumpled it up, threw it in the corner, and slumped himself over his meager desk. After a moment composing himself, he wrote, not even believing himself, a brief phrase he found himself repeating often to those who asked.Nice Day Today!





	1. Journal Entry No. 1: Difficulties

_Nice Day Today!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a place holder until I can work on this idea for longer than 7 minutes at 3 in the morning.
> 
> Update: It is still 3 in the morning.


	2. Journal Entry No. 2: Coming to Terms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update: It is no longer 3am.

Asgore entered his bedroom, sat down on his bed, and stared at the floor for an hour. He was fully dressed, pauldrons and all, but did not move, nor make any attempt to undress. It looked as though he was hurt, devastated even. Abruptly, he got up and sat at the chair to his desk, picked up a quill and, carefully dabbing it in an inkwell, began to write.

_Journal Entry No. 2_

_Tori came for a visit today, although she did not stay long. I happened upon her leaving with a box in her arms as I was returning from Hotland. I offered to help, but her icy gaze and cold shoulder did not relieve the tension. I asked her how she was, and, gruffly, she said “Do not act ignorant, Asgore.” There was resentment and scorn in her voice. She did not stop, only moving quicker upon the discovery of my presence._

_I looked down at the flowers outside_ _~~our~~ _ _my home, reminded of the events of the previous month. Yes, I knew what she had meant, but I did not falter in my attempts._

_I started, “Are you sure you want to do this? I - I don’t-”_

_“I have never been more sure of anything in my life!” Her eyes burned crimson. I knew she was lying, but the passion in her voice hid her true emotions._

_She said those exact same words when we were married._

_“Tori, I-”_

_“Don’t you ‘Tori’ me, Dreemurr. There is nothing you can say that will change my mind. As long as you continue to behave in this way, I cannot abide by your rash actions.”_

_I could think of many things to say in that moment - how broken we both were, how we were both acting rashly, how we both felt we had to do what we did. It would not have mattered, in the end._

_“I will not return.” she said, in her matter-of-fact, curt manner. She hastened off through the courtyard. She was halfway out when the first sob heaved its way out of my chest._

_“I will never stop loving you.” was all that I could muster from my tangled mind._

_She stopped, but did not look back. She lowered her head, as if some great revelation had been revealed to her. With a quick inhale and exhale, she composed herself again. Walking on, she spoke, barley above that of a whisper,_

_“I know.”_

The King leaned back in his chair, eyes glossed over and chest gently breathing. He removed his crown from his head, ran his hands through his mane, closed the journal, and proceeded to cry.

It was late into the night when the King, out of tears for now, decided to make himself a cup of tea, and go to bed.


	3. Journal Entry No. 3: Empty House

The King did not sleep well that night. Tossing and turning, sleep talking, nightmares, aggressively startled awake. Among the words,  _ please  _ and  _ tori  _ where the most numerous. It was a long night. By the time light from the surface had graced the courtyard, Asgore was up and about, unable to will himself to endure his dreams any longer. 

He left the room, and returned with a fresh cup of tea moments later. He sat down at his chair, feeling it’s tight wooden frame creak as he did so. Leisurely, he sipped his tea, staring into nothingness while doing so. Sadness began to show on his face, his eyes heavy with forlorn conclusions of what he would have to endure for some time to come. 

When minutes turned into an hour, he had finished his tea and proceeded to open his journal. For a moment, he only stared at the first entry. A bitter grin formed on his mouth. Without closing the journal, the King dawned his crown and cape and left the room. Curiously, he locked the door. 

He returns late into the day. He looks tired. Off goes the cape, off comes the crown, and down onto the bed he falls. It is another hour later when he first stirs, slowly sitting himself upright. His dazed expression follows him to his desk, where the lack of lighting forces him to light a candle. Equipping his quill, flowing with ink, he puts it to the page. 

_ Journal Entry No. 3 _

_ I did not sleep well.  _

_ The screams of the humans never leave my mind. I did what I had to do. Why must I be tormented so? She was there with me, always by my side. I wonder if she is haunted by the same dreams? Granted, is has been a long time since The War, and so much has happened since, yet… _

He put down the quill. He leaned back, chair creaking all the while. Briefly, he thought to himself, perhaps of what to put to paper? He leaned back in. 

_ A recurring dream is always the day Asriel came back to us. He was so torn, so… _

_ She was there with me, clutching my side as our child became dust. I sat there in that flower patch, comforting her, mourning with her, lamenting the fate of our boy.  _

Tears began to fall onto the page. 

_ People lost hope. I did what I had to do. How can she blame me? _

The writing quickly deteriorated in quality. 

_ They were my children too. Tori, please, why won’t you come back? Why must I suffer? What gives you the right to leave? Am I not also in pain? Please, Tori, please. I need you here, with me. You were all I had left...  _

He leaned back, wiping the wet patches of his fur. He breathed steadily, composing himself. When he had recovered,  he left the room and brought back a cup of tea. Sitting himself down again, he continued. 

_ I went looking for her today. I could not find her. I stopped by Doctor Gaster’s lab for some counselling, and he again suggested I write down everything. I told him I would not go that far, but he said it is a first step to, how did he put it, ‘getting over it.’ For the second time in a long while, I was angered, and so I abruptly left to look for my wife more.  _

_ I do not know where she could have gone, but that matters little now. I do not know what I would do if I found her.  _

_ In the week after Asriel’s passing, we seldom left each other’s sides. We were a comfort to each other. When I spoke before the monsters, telling them of what had happened, not one could remember a time which we were more downtrodden. I did what I felt I had to do; I told them of my intentions, to break the barrier, to free us all from this prison, and to seek revenge. I was enraged at the loss of my son, but in that moment, I felt the gentle cheering of the crowd as justification for what I had said. I had restored their hope. As King, I have always envisioned my main concern to be the well being of my subjects. In that moment of rage, in that moment of weakness, the monsters all felt my pain. They supported what I had said. Who am I to deny them? It was for the best.  _

_ We argued for the whole night after that. Her rage matched my despair. Sometimes she would weep, sometimes yell. There was a charred part of the table later on. A cup had been broken. The fireplace roared. After a long night of back and forth argument, she sat down in her sitting chair, her face in her hands, bent over.  _

_ “How could you say such things?!” Her eyes glowed crimson. “What were you thinking?” _

_ “You know all too well what I was thinking. Humans killed him, Tori, what did you expect me to do? They need hope, not despair.” My voice was low and shaken. I noticed she was no longer crying tears of sadness, but of rage. We both were at that point.  _

_ “How does that justify killing every human that comes down here? What if the humans send another army? What then? You have told me of your dreams, Dreemurr, I know you will not kill out of aggression.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. Perhaps she wanted a response.  _

_ “I will do what must be done.” was my response.  _

_ “I will not stand idly by as you slaughter innocents.” _

_ I was standing now, gesticulating wildly with my hands. “What will you have me do? I cannot bring him back! This is what I have to do, Toriel, I am sorry. They need a leader who can get them out of this forsaken place. I need to be their leader.” _

_ “No, Asgore, you just want your revenge.” _

_ “And you do not?” _

_ There was a pause. Both were standing now, gazing sharply into the other’s eyes.  _

_ “You are a coward, Dreemurr.” She began walking to her bedroom, aloof and detached. I knew better than to carry on at that point. I paced by the dinning table. After some time had passed, I decided to make tea. I knocked on her door to offer her some, but her response was a warm door and a distraught moan - “Go. Away. Dreemurr.” I didn’t try the doorknob, for I had already known it to be locked. I tried speaking, “I brought you some tea. I, I thought we could-” _

_ “BEGONE, DAMN IT!” _

_ I waited another moment. Her heaving sobs were much more audible now. Her weeping brought me more pain that I had anticipated it to bring.  _

_ She spoke again, this time just above a whisper. “Just,” her voice faltered, “just leave me be.” _

_ I left the cup of tea on the floor in front of her still-shut door.  _

_ Throughout the night, I could hear her sorrowful howling from the other side of the wall. She could probably hear mine as well, but there was no use in asking her. In those moments, I just wanted to hold her. Why could I not hold her then? _

_ In the morning, I redoubled my efforts to talk to her. “Tori, please” I would say. She would only return a scornful glance. She went about her day, and I about mine. She left sometime in the early afternoon. It was late evening before I realized what she had meant to do. She did not come back that night, nor the night after that, nor the night after that. It was becoming hard to tell myself it was for the best.  _

_ In the weeks following our fight, I kept telling myself it could only get better. But now, seeing what has come of my shallow promises, I cannot say it could not be worse, either. I still have my family ripped apart, my people trapped underground, and nothing to show for any of it.  _

_ The nights have been long since the day she left me.  _

_ Yesterday was the first time I had seen her in a month.  _

_ Why is she doing this? Why does she do this to me? Why me? Why? _

Asgore was wetting the pages again. He sniffled, wiped his face, and tried to go on.

_ Why _

He could not find the strength to go on. 


	4. Journal Entry No. 4: Desperation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 3am again.

Screaming shattered the silence of the night. Not for the first time, not for the last time. The King awoke with a start, staring straight into the dark, empty ceiling. He kept telling himself he would get over it all, like the good doctor said, but it was obvious this was not going to happen. It had been just a couple weeks since the last journal entry, but he had a strong compulsion to write one, seeing as his other attempts had all failed.

He lit another worn-down candle and, after burning the bottom of it slightly, stuck it on top of the waxy mess that was the remains of the last several burnt-out candles. He really ought to get a lamp, he thought. The room gently became illuminated, revealing what the night had hid from plain sight. His bed, the last time it was made, no one could remember. His dresser, seldom opened, often with his regalia lazily strewn over it. Another dresser, this one standing, had a pot with a single yellow flower in it. It looked thirsty and wilted. Asgore looked about, sleep still straining his eyes, until he had found what he was searching for.

A disheveled Asgore reached for the bottle of foggy-yellow liquid that had found its place at the end of his desk for some time now. After two swigs, the thing was empty. Tossing it behind him, into a pile of similarly-empty bottles, he set his head in his hands. There was a moment of silence, then a hollow clatter. Looking drowsily behind him, Asgore assessed the source of the commotion to be an old trophy of his. Slowly, he stood, grabbing the candle and the journal, and left his room into the hallway.

The candle illuminated a rather narrow hallway, well decorated with more pots of golden yellow flowers. As he went along, he looked to his right at a locked door, with a sign with “Under Renovations” printed. He did not stop. He walked further, finding himself in a large sitting chair. He threw the candle into a fireplace, which instantly illuminated the room, before placing the journal down at a table. Among the journal were various recipe books, cooking guides, and a stained, broken teacup.

Asgore wobbled over to the table, setting himself down in a chair that was much too small to be comfortable for a monster of his size. His large frame casts long shadows on the wall in front of him. Opening the journal and realizing he had left his quill in his room, he stumbled out of his chair, bumped about in the hallway a bit, got his quill, stumbled his way back, put the chair back upright, sat down, and began to write.

His handwriting was not legible.

_Jornl netsr_

He paused. Taking a deep breath, he concentrated this time.

_Journal Entry No. 4_

_I cannot live like this anymore. I have no meaning. I have no purpose._

_I can’t feel anything._

_There are piles of dust in my bed when I wake up. I’m dying, I just know it. Why must I continue to suffer like this?_

It was getting difficult to concentrate.

An hour had passed, and after many cups of tea, Asgore felt sober enough to continue. He read what he had written, and shook his head. Placing a hand on the spine of the journal and another on the occupied pages, he was set on destroying it. It brought him so much more pain that he thought he could endure. Perhaps there were tears, perhaps not.

There was a knock at the door. It was not impressive, nor quiet, but it was firm, and it beckoned to him.

Startled, Asgore threw down the intact journal and darted to his room to put on a robe. Moments later, he ran towards the door, bellowing “Coming, coming!” Upon opening it, he looked out upon an empty garden, a vacant courtyard, and a lonely tree. It was still night, and many monsters ought to have been sleeping, but King Asgore told his people they could come to him whenever they wanted, that he would always be there to listen to them, to hear their concerns and troubles.

He whispered, “Is anyone there?” Silence. He should have thought nothing more of it, but when all he heard was silence, he felt dread. There was not silence from a lack of response, nor silence from anticipation in bated breath. This was the absolute meaning of quiet. There was nothing. No noise, no sound, no movement could be felt anywhere near Asgore. Asgore was completely and utterly alone. The first thing he heard was his own haggard breathing, trying to escape from him.

But nobody came.

He slammed the door shut. For the first time in years, he locked it, too.

He was a mess. Opening the journal, he continued,

_There was a knock on the door just a moment ago. I know it, I heard it. It was there. Do my senses deceive me?_

Another pause. The fire was beginning to die out behind him.

_I see them sometimes. My children, my wife, my family. But only in those fleeting moments that dreams hold for fractions of an eternity. At night, they come to comfort me, until I awake, where I am haunted by their absence. I’ve_

His breathing echoed a repressed sob.

_I’ve been resorting to other means of escaping their torment. At first they worked, although not without their side effects. I have become slovenly, inept, and cynical. The monsters have stopped coming to me with their burdens. They do not trust me. Do they not trust me? It must not matter._

_At night, my thoughts, muddled by drink, take me to places I do not want to go. How could I leave all my subjects leaderless and without direction? I couldn’t. I would never._

_I am not a coward._

Those words stared back at him. The fire died out, and so he retreated back to his bedroom desk, journal and quill in one hand, and a fresh cup of tea in the other. He proceeded

_I do not know why, but this little journal brings to me some sense of purpose. Accountability. If I were gone, I would be disgusted if someone were to read this. I would be disgusted in the state they would find my dust in, a dirty home, surrounded by empty bottles. This is no way for a King to behave, I’ve come to realize that._

_I cannot allow the mistakes of my past to define me._

He stared at the ceiling in humble contemplation.

_Why am I doing this? No offense to your pages, but you are not an adequate counselor. I shall go seek regular counsel with Gaster. While our last visit was… a little less helpful than I could have wanted, he is a good friend, and will listen to what I have to say. I should go tomorrow!_

Closing the journal, Asgore felt shame. “Perhaps…” he said, “she was right after all.”

He began to collect the bottles that littered the corner of his room, and went elsewhere with them. The tipped-over trophy, he stowed neatly in his closet. The rest of the room, he tidied up. Asgore had not been feeling much as of late, but he felt guilt. He had decided in his soul that all of that had to change. If not for himself and his own well being, then for that of all the monsters who still looked to him for guidance and leadership. As he set his head down on his pillow, he did not know what he felt. Perhaps it was hope, perhaps it was something else. For now, he decided he would not care, but go to greet his family again, while the night lasted.

In the morning, he leapt up from deep slumber, dawned his regalia, and left.

His expression betrayed a look of desperation. 


	5. Journal Entry No. 5: Conversations

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3am, as always.

Light had faded from the mountain halls.It was very late when Asgore had returned. He did not appear tired, nor disheveled, nor downcast.

From underneath his robes, he brandished a small lamp. Placing it down where an old mass of wax once resided, it lit up the room quite nicely with a warm yellow glow.

He sat down to the journal and began writing immediately.

_Journal Entry No. 5_

_I had a busy day today!_

_First on my list of things to do today was to visit Dr. Gaster. On my way to Hotland, I was stopped by several kind hearted monsters who just wanted to share their day with me! Not wanting to seem rude, I spent the better part of the morning with a few monsters, and felt as though their words of hope and encouragement seemed genuine. I was happy to know that the monsters still trust in me, knowing that I am willing to listen to them, and even have breakfast with them, if they so ask!_

_Most of those who I conversed with were families, but one small girl in particular was brave enough to make herself known to me. She said hello, I said Howdy, she asked where I was going, I said Hotland, she asked why, I said to speak to a friend, she said cool, and I smiled kindly as she dashed off in the other direction. Peculiar I thought, especially considering we didn’t even know each other's names!_

_When I eventually reached the Doctor’s lab, he was cross that I was late. Very late. No matter, he proclaimed, as he expected that our talk would be quick. He continued to keep himself busy about the lab, all the while speaking with me. He worked in such an industrious manner, seldom taking breaks. I often tease him about working himself to dust, but he merely brushes it off, claiming that “breaks are for the uninterested”. I cannot argue with that!_

_He did not speak like the rest of us monsters, as skeletons communicate through telepathy with one another. When it comes to other monsters, they have to get creative, due to their… How does he put it? “Unique system of phonics” I believe it was. To remedy this situation, he created a method of which he can communicate through signing certain symbols with his hands. Fortunately, he is able to manifest extra hands, should the need arise to communicate and work at the same time. Which he always does. He came to me with the idea the day after I had met him on the surface. Since then, I have been diligently learning, so that I may better understand him._

_Truly_ _, this monster is remarkably clever._

_He signs to me,_ How have you been your majesty.

_Gaster and his manners, or lack thereof I suppose. I would roll my eyes at him, but having known him since he was an adolescent, I let is pass. Most do not address me the way they would my father or his father before him, but royal epithets have since died out in practice. Gaster, on the other hand, thinks he is amusing, or he thinks it is proper, or he thinks he owes it to me. I cannot say, he does not concern me with such things._

_“Oh, well, that is what I was hoping to discuss with you…”_

_He did not avert his gaze from what he was working on._ Well then spit it out.

_“I wanted your advice on how to deal with… Painful memories.”_

Asgore wrote with concentrated intent. He himself appeared to be reliving the moment, mouthing words as he wrote them.

_He remained buried in a pile of diagrams._ Have you been writing down your thoughts like I suggested at your majesty’s last visit.

_“Yes, and I feel as though it helps, sometimes, but I do not think it is any replacement for real emotional counseling._ ”

_He paced over to a bookcase, laden with thick textbooks and theorem papers, picking a couple of them out._ Is that the purpose for my liege’s visit today.

_“You are one of the few monsters I feel comfortable talking to about… all of that. I mean, you knew her, when we were all younger. I would say you were even closer to her than to I. Do you think I am in the right?”_

_He skimmed through one of the books._ It is not my place to measure the justice of my king’s decisions you should not aim towards being right in the eyes of others but look to be right within your own eyes. _He shut one book and moved on to another._ We were close yes but that was a long time ago sire. _He paused. I was unsure if he was deep in thought, or reading._ Things do change your highness.

_I pondered upon his_ _~~words~~ _ _hands for a moment. “I ask you not as your king, but as your friend, Gaster. I’m doing what is best by declaring war?”_

_His hands were silent. One of them appeared to have a scratch on them. Or… was it pencil? He folded a book and went to put it back in its spot on the bookcase._ You have restored the hope of the monsters at the cost of the queen’s good graces. _He paused and looked at me in the eyes._ Not a choice I would have made but think of all the good you have done. _His look conveyed both sympathy and understanding._ She was always good to me and I know your majesty misses her dearly yet that is no reason to give up hope.

_I scowled at him. “I shall remind you, friend, that I now no longer have any family left.” Realizing the harshness in my voice, I tilted my head down, trying to contain my annoyance. “It is hard to think of the good in my choices when all of them up to now have led to my own suffering.”_

_Sensing the mood of the room changing, he stopped his work and pulled up a chair, opposite to mine, across from me on a small round coffee table. He held a coffee mug in one hand, and a lit cigarette in the other. Taking a short drag, then a sip, he let his hands to the talking and his face do the reading._ Your majesty must accept my apology if I seem callous or indifferent to your situation but the fact of the matter is that you are not to blame for any misfortune to befall you the queen the dearly departed prince or the royal human.

_I disliked that term, ‘royal human’, but something about the way Gaster meant it made it feel applicable. He always is one for objectivity, much to my annoyance on rare occasion, but I tolerate it._ All of these things including your recent decisions are not your fault that they turn into suffering the queen made her choice and that hurt you not any action of your own self. _He paused to give me time to catch up with his line of thought. It was hard to keep up with him sometimes, as his gestures did not include things like punctuation, pitch, or any sound for one to gauge his intent. As sarcastic as he is, it often is difficult to tell, unless of course he is smiling._ She left you because she did not agree with your decision correct.

_“Well, that was the main reason, yes.”_

Would you say that you drove her to leaving or that she did so of her own accord.

_“Well, I suppose I did not force her out… I did make it clear I was sure of my actions, but as it set in that she did not intend to return, I became unsure of myself.” After all, we shared most of the responsibilities as King and Queen. When she left, I was overwhelmed not only with grief, but with work._

Was this before or after the rampant alcoholism.

_He must have seen my grimace, because he immediately changed the topic._

My point is sire that you cannot blame yourself for all that happens to you.

_I nodded._

Now then. _He took another drag and another sip._ How are you doing please be honest with me your majesty.

_“I cleaned out my bedroom, threw out the last of that accursed drink, and, eh, bought a lamp.”_

_There was a pause. He stared blankly at my crooked grin._

A lamp.

_“Yes, a lamp.” He continued to stare. “Well, I needed one!”_

_He shrugged. I chuckled, and he grinned himself._ I hope my _lampooning_ came to a satisfactory conclusion. _His grin widened significantly, as did mine._

Asgore, while writing all of this, also wore his own shit-eating grin. He might have liked puns, but none that a journal would be aware of.

_“Yes Gaster, I bathe regularly now and have ceased consuming that vile brew. I was discouraged, I did not know what to do, but I am confident I am out of it.”_

_Gaster smiled proudly, as if he takes full credit for my well being. He took a long, dramatically held out drag on his now used cigarette and let the smoke waft through the air. The smell always bothered me, and I coughed a bit. Where in the Underground did he get them from, anyways?_

_“I see you still have your own nasty little habits to kick.”_

_He gazed at me with a mock-stunned expression._ I am a scientist sire and therefore if I say it is not harmful then that means it is not harmful. _As if to enforce his claim, he lit another and let it hang from his jawbone._ You should try it it might make you calm the _he did not teach me that one_ down. _I did not carry on, as it was a pointless charade. He had his vices, and Angels preserve any soul who tries to knock him off it._

_Quickly, I grabbed one of his gesticulating hands. I turned it over in my palm, noticing the deep scratches and a few chips. On the back, there were the usual chips and scratches, but accompanying these was a near perfectly drawn circle, right in the middle. Looking at him questioningly, I teased “Taking up a new hobby?”_

It is not my place to say. _His face hid all emotion, nearly aloof. But I had known Gaster for a long time. Longer than most. I knew when he was lying to me. However, I decided not to prod into another monster’s business. He knew his work with me was done for the day, and so he stood up and resumed musing over his charts and blueprints._ Is there anything else you would like to discuss your majesty.

_I smiled warmly. “You have been a great help to me, Gaster. And a good friend. I ought to go, I have some more business to attend to.”_

The pleasure is all mine your highness.

_With that, I stood to leave. Walking out of his lab, he rattled to get my attention._ And do not forget to keep writing in that journal I gave you it is important you do so for your own introspection.

_“With care, old friend.”_

_I waved goodbye, as did several of his magically manifested hands. He smiled slightly, and resumed his intense study._

_On my way back to New Home, I was again stopped by a few monsters, all of whom had nothing but kind words and well wishes to give me. It was still midday by the time I was had left Gaster, but it was late into the day by the time I had concluded my walk about New Home, greeting and conversing with my people. They all had the same sentiments, that of hope and optimism. Sympathy, of course, but they do tend to try to focus on the happier things in life._

_When I had finished talking to everyone who wanted to, I began to make my trek out to Waterfall to meet another friend. But, when I realized how late it was, I assumed he would not have been up and about, given his age. So, I promptly turned about and went back to New Home, my home._

The king yawned, the events of the day seeming to finally catch up to him. He took off his regalia and pauldrons, made himself a cup of tea, and made his way to bed. However, upon realizing he had left the journal open, sat back up and went over to his desk to close it. Right before, however, he wrote one final line.

_Nice Day Today!_


	6. Journal Entry No. 6: A Young Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is no longer 3am.  
> It is 1am.  
> Progress!

The king awoke with a pleasant smile on his face. Carefree would be the wrong word to describe his mood - it was more akin to contentment. After his morning cup of tea, he donned his regalia, robes, and armor, and left. Interestingly enough, he was humming a tune. A pleasant tune. ‘Bum de bum, bum bum de do de bum,’ down the hallway he went, the door slightly ajar.

It was late in the evening when he had returned to his desk. With almost childlike fascination, he turned on his new lamp, still humming with glee, albeit a different tune. Opening the journal, he began as he always did.

_Journal Entry No. 6_

_I ran into my friend from yesterday again today! Or, rather, she ran up to me._

_"FIGHT ME!" she screamed, waving a pointy stick in my general direction._

_Not wanting to be rude, I humored her with an "Alright, then." She stood very still, crouching almost. A moment passed. She eyed me all over, looking for... something?_

_Finally, bursting with energy, she charged at me, yelling "NNNGAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" all the way._

_She drew in her stick towards her side, then aggressively jabbed out towards me. I could not help but brandish a toothy smile when, with ease, I moved quickly to the side, and she fell flat on her face when nothing stood to stop her rush. Chuckling as I was, she snapped to look at me. She did not look hurt or sad, but grinned menacingly. She jumped up, still filled with energy, and tried again. This time, she extended one arm with the stick, which missed me by mere inches, when again I took a large step to the side._

_I smiled warmly at her. "Young one, do you mean to harm me?"_

_She took this well, I suppose not realizing that she was trying to assault her King._

_"Stand Still, old man!" she bellowed._

_Naturally, not wanting the fun to end, I continued to side-step and dodge her every attempt._

_"FIGHT ME, DAMN IT!"_

_"That's quite a threat, you know. And such language! Shame on you." I could not keep a straight face, and the lighthearted nature of it all was much more enjoyable than administering the realm. An hour passed until she showed signs of tiring, but even then, she kept on, slowly moving to the point of exhaustion. She was certainly a determined little one._

_"W-Why won't you stand still and fight me?!"_

_"There is more to fighting than violence, young one. Try talking to your opponent, instead - you might make a friend while you're at it!"_

_She faltered, tripping and falling into the dirt beneath our feet. I offered her my hand, of which she begrudgingly accepted. She stood up, but then grunted, sitting cross-legged on the floor. I asked her what the matter was. She burst out in anguish, “Why didn’t you try to fight back at all? Y-you,” She sniffled, upset perhaps. “You didn’t even try to hit me!” She was not so much crying as she was having a fit. Wanting to help her, I too sat down, and although my legs did not cross while I was wearing my armor, I met her on the ground where we both then sat._

_“Now why would I want to fight you? You have been nothing but friendly!”_

_She giggled at this sudden burst of sarcasm. She looked at me, still grinning that toothy grin._

_“I’m Undyne, mister. What’s your name?”_

_I did not know how to respond to that. Most children simply cowered behind their families due to my large size. This one, however, had the gall to charge headlong into me! She was surely capable of many brave feats._

_“Asgore, young one. King, Asgore.” I added the ‘King’ for emphasis, wanting to see her reaction. Her eyes widened. I thought for sure what would follow would be a mountain of apologies and condolences and more apologies. Instead, she stuck out her right hand and, eyes shut, shouted._

_“Hi, King Asgore!” Unabashedly, she went on. “You were right, if I talk to you, maybe I will make a friend!” She smirked deviously. Furrowing her brow, she quickly reached for the stick, and swung it at me. My arm partially extended, I caught the stick mid-swing._

_“And a friend you shall have, little one.”_

_We stood up, and walked onward to Waterfall._

_“Where do you live, Mr. King?”_

_She grabbed hold of my hand while we were walking._

_“New Home.”_

_Her eyes twinkled. “WOW! The big city?” Then it dawned upon her. “W-well you are the king after all!”_

_I smiled at her. “Where do you live?”_

_The spark fled from her eyes. She appeared forlorn, but not without care. “I have a place in Waterfall. It’s not much, but it’s the shack I call home.”_

_My own eyes widened in concern. She did not see, but continued to explain of her own accord._

_“My parents never made it to the underground, so I spend most of my time wandering around, looking for trouble.” She grinned again. “I found this one monster, looked like a turtle, and he tells the coolest stories! Aww, man, he’s awesome! He talks about how he used to beat up bad guys, and… I follow him around sometimes, thinking I would get the chance to beat up bad guys!” She sheepishly looked down at the ground. “But then he told me I was just beating up mailmen and stuff like that.” She looked up at me again, remembering something amusing, perhaps. “He said you got called fluffybuns when he was younger!” She let out a howling ‘fuhuhuhuhuh’ in laughter. I shook my head, grinning ear to ear._

_I will never live that down, will I?_

_Eventually, we happened upon her home. It was meager, at best. A few wooden boards stacked against a small rock. Room enough for one, but still very small. Nevertheless, it probably was enough to protect her from the occasional water droplets coming from the ceiling. He released my hand, running into the structure, and withdrawing with what looked like a lyre, constructed from a ‘U’ shaped branch and strings of fishing line. She strummed it happily, singing an old fish-tune. Soon, though, she descended into tears. Dropping the lyre in the dirt, she rushed to me, arms extended about my waist, gently sobbing._

_“M-my mother sung that to me when sh-she, she…”_

_She did not continue. I could only hold her, not wanting to imagine what it must have been like. We sat there, on the ground, for quite a while. I did not have much else to do, and helping this poor soul was the least I could do. Soon, she began to fall asleep while weeping in my arms. I held her, as long as she was for her age, in my arms. She was most likely but a toddler during the Great War. Now, she was an adolescent. To have carried such raw emotion with her for all this time must have been quite the burden._

_Lifting my body and, by extension, her, I began to walk back to New Home. I had intended to speak with Gerson, but that could always wait. He told me the last time we met that he was running a small shop, so it was unlikely I would ever catch him at a bad time. While passing through the streets of New Home, the people became hushed. My solemn expression was not entirely sad, but they had enough mind about them to not wake poor Undyne._

_Upon entering my home, I, for the first time in almost a decade, opened the door to the children’s bedroom. While the beds were both a bit to small for her lengthy frame, I set her down. I believe an unused bed would be much more comfortable than my arms, armored and heavy as they were._

_I went down into the basement, where I kept the Piano. I played a tune, patiently waiting for young Undyne to wake up. I was once better at it, but time away from playing music had made the tune off-pitch and out of time. I stopped. Humming to myself, as I often find myself doing, I attempted to play the tune Undyne played for me but moments ago. By the time I had worked it out, Undyne had come into the basement, holding herself tightly. She sniffled. I turned about, stopping the song, to offer my arms to her, but she quickly begged “Please, d-don’t stop. Keep playing.”_

_I turned back around, slowly but surely stroking the keys in rhythm, trying to mimic what she had played for me. I arranged it to be soft chords on the left hand, with a gentle progressing melody on the right hand. She had only played for just short of a minute, so I had little to go off of. Soon enough, she was sitting on the bench next to me, watching eagerly to where my hands where and when._

_When I had repeated the tune for the fifth time, I stopped, glancing over towards her. Rather than demanding I go on, she asked “Can you show me how to do that?”_

_Naturally, I obliged. I showed her what keys to strike, when, all the while asking “Is that how it goes?” and her responding more often that not “yeah, something like that,” until we had finished working it out._

_“Alright Undyne, now try playing it by yourself!”_

_Nervously, she nodded, ruby-red hair swaying about as she turned to face the keys. To be honest, she is a good pianist, but she has the tendency of slamming down on the keys. Rather than with passion as I had, she played with energy. After a second play through, I had decided to spare my old piano, and assure her that she had it down to the beat._

_She’s playing piano._

_We went upstairs, where I asked her if she would care for a cup of tea. When her response was “what, like the letter?” I could not help but to burst out in a roar of laughter._

_“No, dear, the drink!”_

_I prepared two cups of tea, boiled a kettle with my hands, and handed her the cup. She beamed with absolute joy after the first sip. I had not known of any monster who had not heard of tea till this very day, but given her unique background, I do not blame her. It was an easy to remedy problem._

_“What’s your favorite ‘tea’?” she asked, still unsure of what to think of the word itself in relation to the letter._

_“Why, golden flower, of course! It grows all about the garden, so I never run out.” I motioned over to the garden. Her eyes glowed when she spotted the bright yellow of a lone flower, shimmering like gold in the courtyard. Sitting next to it, she stroked the leave gently, not wanting to rip it. After a moment, she uprooted it by the stem, held it out to me, and asked “Can we make this into tea?” Amused, I showed her how I ground the petals, dried them with fire magic, put them in small pouches, and stored them in a cupboard. She seemed interested, but she was still tired after all of the day’s commotion. She yawned. Shyly, she rubbed her hands together, eyes focused on some unseen object before her. Pondering, I thought. I let her be for a moment while she thought of what she wanted._

_“Asgore, do you mind if I stay with you for a while?”_

_I did not expect her to be so blunt about it, but before I could even consider what my next words should be, “I would be happy to do so, my child.”_

_She grinned her toothy grin. Yawning again, she began to walk down the hallway towards_ _~~the children’s~~  her room. She did not close the door behind her, and in moments I could hear her gently snoring. _

_It was rather late, so I decided to join her in sleep, right after I log the day’s events._

_Today was a good day._

With that, Asgore sat back, satisfied. There was a soft bubbling sound emanating from the hallway. Peeking out of his room for a moment, Asgore saw that the door which Undyne slept behind was still open, and that she still slept a deep slumber. He decided to leave his own door open. 


	7. Journal Entry No. 7: Determined Reconciliation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for taking so long, alas.   
> Life goes on!

Months passed before the King wrote in his little Journal again. 

Well, in earnest anyways. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

Every day since the little blue monster began to stay with him, the King would wake up early to prepare breakfast for himself and his friend. On a few occasions, the Journal witnessed the little monster come into the room to wake the King, playfully lamenting over wanting to start the day. Freshly awoken from his slumber, the King would not hesitate to get out of bed and prepare the two fresh tea. Seldom was anything written of substance in the Journal for that time. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

There would still be nights that the King would have night terrors, and there were times where he just sat up in bed, staring at nothing in particular. All was not perfect, but it was well enough. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

It was apparent that the little monster’s presence helped him. It gave him purpose. Perhaps, even, hope. Although, one could also make the argument that he was trying to fill a void that could not be filled. In the end, he realized this. It was not apparent when the King had come to accept reality, but it was apparent that he had done so. It must have been a gradual process - a very slow process at that. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

Months of this had passed. Sometimes the banging of a piano could be heard about the house. Sometimes it was the laughter of one or the other, or both. If the door was open, and it was a quiet day outside, they could be heard sparing in the courtyard. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

However, as time continued to drag on, the laughter lessened in its frequency. The piano did not play so loudly, nor so often. Eventually, the house became quiet again. It was inevitable, but now, day in and day out, the king wore a crown of sorrows and a mask of contentedness. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

Soon enough, a conversation was heard in the hallway. There was no yelling, only warm, heartfelt emotion. There must have been tears, for it was quiet for a long while afterwards. 

The King entered the room moments later and sat down before his desk. Gazing at the little Journal, he procured his quill and opened it to the bookmarked page. Before him were those damned words, so accursed and yet so meaningless. What a blanket statement of abject indifference! He smirked as he read the words aloud, in a tone of voice that was set back from the words themselves, scornful of their supposed meaning. 

_ Nice Day Today! _

He turned to the next, unmarked page.

_ Journal Entry No.  _

He flipped a few pages back to check, and then flipped forward again. 

_ Journal Entry No. 7 _

_ It has been quite a while since I’ve written here! I hope Gaster does not mind.  _

_ It has been  _

He twists about to look at a calendar on the opposite wall.

_ It has been just over six months since I invited Undyne into my home. Within those six months, we have bonded over so many things. She brightened up my day, and daily I was happy to be her caretaker. However, as time went on, I became apathetic. There was no joy in anything. I had sought to fill the void I felt at the loss of my family by taking in an innocent.  _

_ While she appreciates me all the more for it, she decided it would be better for her to live out on her own. She did not hold anything against me, nor I against her. She said she’ll keep in touch with me, to which I said I would be looking forward to. Of course it is hard not to feel sadness when you part with a good friend, but my tears remain few, as I know that our friendship will last, even without each others constant presence.  _

_ For those six months, I watched her grow, both in maturity and in character. She will continue to grow on her own, though, as it is what she wants and thinks will be best for her. I initially tried not to be her father-figure, but it turned out that way anyways. She needed a loving father-figure in her life, and I was there to provide it for her. I can say with utmost certainty that we both will remember with delight the time we spent together.  _

The King took a moment to collect himself. Thinking, he shot up to grab some tea before returning moments later, cup in hand. 

_ I think I have accepted the fact that my children are dead and my wife is gone. It still pains me, but I think I have accepted the facts. It is sad, but I shall not let that prevent me from being who I must be to these monsters. I have a duty to them. And so, I shall be content with my station, and seek to live with this burden. I can have peace with myself. I must have peace with myself.  _

Again, the King stopped, and reflected on what he had written. 

 

Sitting there, he began to leaf through the previous pages, expressionless. His eyes read every word, but no emotion snuck through to the surface; his eyes betrayed him, however, as small droplets began to form. They never fell, but they were still there. When he reached what he had written about the Queen, he began to drop his head. Thoughts and emotions of all sorts began to flood into his mind: sadness, desperation, hopelessness, defeat, remorse, but above all, an overwhelming sense of regret. 

Pushing them all back, he read on. 

After bearing witness to all he had written since day one, he sat down the little journal and began to dress into his royal regalia. A stern, solemn look was cast over his face. His robe came first, followed by his armour, then his cape, pauldrons and all, and then, finally, his crown, which he seemed to dawn with a slow and steady majesty, in a manner befitting of a king. 

Or, perhaps, in a manner befitting one who does not believe they should wear it. 

As the King was about to leave the room, hand on the door, he stopped. Looking back at the Journal, he scooped it up and held it close to his breastplate. 

Down the hallway he proceeded, out the front door (which the King left open), across the courtyard, through the city, into and then out of the CORE, hastily walking about Hotland, all the way to Doctor Gaster’s Laboratory. 

In the city, there were several courteous nods and greetings, but those who saw him could tell that he was in a rush, on a mission, not quite one to be stopped or slowed. He would, equally courteously, give a gentle “Howdy” as he passed by, brushing off attempts to stay longer and chat, and these were received well. 

Upon reaching the elevator down to Hotland, he noticed a small monster tinkering with some circuitry next to the control panel. In a squeaking voice, the small technician bellowed up towards the King “Deepest apologies, my liege. The elevator is under maintenance!” Sighing, as he was, in fact, in a hurry, he took the stairs without a second thought. 

Passing the dilapidated-looking supposedly renovated apartment building turned resort, the King proceeded straight towards the Lab, using the stairs of course. All the while, clutching the Journal close. 

The door was not open, but after a brief rapt on the tall metal door, it opened to reveal a dimly lit room. Stepping inside, the door swiftly slid shut behind him. 

On the other end of the room, past the dusty bookshelves and cluttered countertops and paper-littered tables sat a lone skeleton, sipping on some murky brown liquid from a white mug from one hand, taking a drag from a freshly lit cigarette with the other, while an array of magically manifested hands spun about him, holding books, charts, and blueprints at various distances. They eye sockets of the good doctor scanned each one in turn, with the hands placing another piece of text or illustration before his eyes, to meet his cold, calculated gaze, only then to be cast off to some distant corner. The only light in the room eerily emanated from a gas lamp, also held up by a pair of manifested hands. The Doctor himself sat, one fibula crossed over one femur, on a rather large yet narrow sitting chair. 

 

Upon noticing he had a guest, he did nothing. 

As he approached the Doctor, the King looked about at the dark setting he found himself in. 

Thinking of something to say, the King muttered for a moment before, confounded, murmured in defeat. 

“... But why a gas lamp?”

The Doctor, acting as though the King had only just appeared, casts a look of indifference, as though his concentration on some ancient enigma had been interrupted on the brink of success. The hands remained in place, not moving. A pair of them manifested in the distance between the King and the Doctor. They began to move and sign. 

_ It helps me concentrate.  _

The King scoffed. 

_ To what do I owe the honor, your grace? _

The King had been paying attention, and had, over his last few visits, been able to get more and more used to translating what the Doctor’s hands were trying to communicate. 

“I have made up my mind - I will go into the Ruins and talk to her. It-I cannot think of any other alternative.”

At this, the hands began to set down their objects, dissipating upon being no longer required. The Doctor had dedicated his full attention to the King. 

_ You truly believe the Queen resides in the Ruins? _

“Without a doubt in my mind. Where else would she hide?”

The King walked up to the hands that tried to sign something out, but instead grasped at the Journal that the King had placed on top of them. The hands glided over towards the Doctor, who then opened the Journal, gently turning a page every moment or so. Another pair of hands appeared. 

_ Why have you given this to me? Do you wish to return it? _

“Read it.”

_ Sire, these are your private thoughts! I would never- _

The King raised a hand and shut his eyes. “Please, spare me the semantics. Just…” He thought a moment, lowering his hand. “Just read through it.”

The Doctor gazed at the Journal, then back at the King, but then dedicated his attention to the Journal when he had stumbled upon something of note. The Doctor’s expression became decreasingly indifferent as the King’s became increasingly more so. A face of investment in what was written before him consumed the Doctor. The hands holding the gas lamp were brought closer, nearly side-by-side with the Doctor’s skull. 

The King stood, staring at the ground. After a while, he heard the pages of the Journal shut closed. Looking up, his gaze met that of the Doctor’s, now standing in front of the King. The hands holding the Journal placed it carefully in the outstretched palm of the King. They signed to him. 

_ I have done as you have asked. What did you hope I gain from that? _

The Doctor’s face was saddened, downcast even. Whatever he had read from within the Journal was not pleasing in the slightest. Concern crept across his cranium. 

The King thought a moment, then, looking up at some unseen object, mumbled. 

“Perspective.”

There was a pause. 

“Do you think I should have her read it?”

The Doctor's expression tightened. 

_ Do you not believe she would handle it _

A pause, a lack of movement.

_ Poorly? _

“That is beyond my concern. She ought to know what she has done to me and how I feel,” there was a pause, a shift in the tone the King spoke in, and a change in atmosphere, “and I ought to know why you gave me this accursed thing in the first place.” His eyes narrowed in on the Doctor, facial expressions stiff and unmoving. The King clutched the Journal tightly between his fingers. 

The Doctor did not appear phased by this change in direction.

_ I have told you, your grace. Writing down emotion and feeling is a vital part of recovering from despair. Reflection, introspection, marking down and taking note of your progress, these are all steps on the path to becoming a better person of more stable mind. _

That last phrase only tightened the King’s grip on the small Journal. The Doctor, noticing this, went on signing. 

_ I do not think it would be prudent of your highness to confront the Queen regarding such matters. Think of what could hap- _

The King turned away. “I have thought long and hard, Gaster. The time is now. I shall give this to her and have her read it. Only then will my apology seem sincere.”

The hands followed him, gliding along in front of his face. 

_ Apologize for what? Was it not her who left you? _

The King increased in speed, attempting to wave away the hands that followed ever still.

_ Sire, consider what might become of you! Will this help? What do you hope to achieve?  _

The King snapped, yelling now. 

“I do not know!” He stopped and turned for a moment. The Doctor was directly behind him, hands folded behind his back. His expression was calm and collected, indifferent and analytical as always. 

“You are welcome to join me, but this is something I must do.” His voice was back to a socially-acceptable level of determined-ness, and the Doctor did not sign further, so the King proceeded to leave. The metal door slid open for him. Looking behind him, he saw the Doctor at the entrance, watching him walk off. 

If the King could see from such a distance, he would have seen the hands signing  _ very well, then. _


End file.
